


Just a Negotiation

by ReaperRain



Series: Just a Series [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Age Difference, Blackmail, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, Kink Meme, M/M, Oral Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperRain/pseuds/ReaperRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original DA K!Meme prompt: "Orsino invites the Champion to his office to discuss the situation between the mages and templars and hoping to persuade him to his side. Hawke finds Orsino attractive and decides to test just how far the First Enchanter is willing to go for his help. Turns out, pretty damn far."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Negotiation

**JUST A NEGOTIATION**

-

Ciardha had now spent about five years in Kirkwall, and he was still single.

There were several reasons for this. Firstly, because he was pleasure-loving, thrill-seeking, self-serving... or to put it more simply, a hedonist. Something he was completely unapologetic for, but he knew that it didn't lend itself particularly well to relationships.

Secondly, because his options left something to be desired. Merrill was cute, but any untoward thoughts about her left him feeling vaguely like a paedophile. That, and Isabela had threatened to castrate him with a dull knife if he mistreated her. Threats aside, Isabela was _marvellous_ , but so similar to him that sleeping with her bordered on creepy narcissism. That, and he had a preference for men anyway.

So out of the male company there was Anders, an attractive man with strong, impassioned views, a Serious Business outlook on life, and a tendency to glow blue when he was angry. Or there was Fenris, an attractive man with strong, impassioned views, a Serious Business outlook on life, and a tendency to glow blue when he was angry. There was also Sebastian, an attractive man with strong, impassioned views, a Serious Business outlook on life, and a tendency to... well, his eyes were a rather bright shade of blue, if that counted. Granted, Sebastian didn't really get angry often, he just gave you the Look. What with his dubious morality, Ciardha received the Look quite often.

All in all, none of them were really his cup of tea.

And that was the third reason. Ciardha's cup of tea was rather specific: he preferred older men, since they didn't fall in love quite so easily as the romantic youth, and silvered hair just _did_ something for him. He also liked elves – Isabela was right, they really did have pretty eyes, and those ears you could do so much with. He liked mages too, they had all kinds of tricks up the sleeves of their robes, which incidentally were very fun to take off. Bonuses were a rich, smooth voice, a quick mind, an elegant bearing... and a fondness for unusual objects such as, say, a three-headed dragon staff.

So, despite the fact that Ciardha had slept with most of the Blooming Rose, his fantasies were fixated on one person in particular. Someone he had seen scarce few times, what with being under Meredith's constant surveillance. On the rare occasions that they did meet, Ciardha's flirting always went politely unnoticed, but he could be extremely persuasive when he wanted. He was good at getting under people's skin, for good or ill, but he needed time to do it.

He was therefore delighted to find an invitation waiting for him one day. The envelope was unmarked and unremarkable, but the letter itself was stamped with the Circle insignia, and written in a graceful cursive:

 _To messere Hawke,  
Our meetings have been few and far between, but you leave quite an impression. I thought perhaps we could have a more in-depth discussion without any pressing matters to attend to. I am free most evenings, so please stop by my office at your nearest convenience. I would also ask that you keep this a private matter, as I would rather not have anyone eavesdropping. As I understand it, you are no stranger to discretion.  
Yours faithfully,  
First Enchanter Orsino_

Oh, Ciardha knew discretion. So did all the people he was blackmailing, but how else was he supposed to afford all that time at the Rose? He was a rich man now, but it was so much more fun spending coin that wasn't yours. Trust Orsino to know all about that, though... of course, almost everyone in Kirkwall knew about his not quite legal antics thanks to Varric's stories, but he suspected Orsino's knowledge was based more on facts than fiction.

With a stealth well practised from evading guards and liberating warehouses, he crept past the templars, bypassing the heavy iron gates while they were changing patrol. It was strange that Orsino had invited him over at night, and had insisted on such privacy despite only wanting a _discussion..._ he hadn't mentioned just what they would discuss, though. It made Ciardha hopeful that they would do more than just talk.

Unnoticed by the templars, he walked the desolate halls of the Gallows, empty and silent save the distant clanking metal of patrols. It was all just so _depressing;_ you heard so many stories about midnight orgies and other delightful debauchery in the Circle, but this place looked about as fun as wet socks. The name didn't help matters much either. He was glad Bethany didn't have to live here, since he suspected the templars would have caught her had he not whisked her off to the Deep Roads. She might hate his guts for putting her among the Wardens – it was not a life suited to her gentle temperament – but it was better than death, and better than here.

He reached Orsino's office in no time. It only occurred to him after he was inside the room that he should've knocked first, but it was force of habit to just let himself into places he wasn't really supposed to enter. The First Enchanter was seated at his desk, quietly writing something in the flickering candlelight, but didn't seem to be particularly preoccupied or urgent. He did look _good_ seated there, though, and since Hawke was still hidden away there was no harm in enjoying the view awhile...

“Good evening, Champion,” Orsino said, not looking up.

Maker's _balls._ Trust that sly old mage to know if someone was there, even if he couldn't see them. Ciardha was torn between annoyed and impressed. Dropping the stealth mode, he left the obscurity of the shadows, sitting when Orsino gestured to a chair opposite his. The candles and bottle of wine present was all very romantic, but the wide expanse of desk between them left this feeling more like an interview than anything else.

“My apologies for the formality,” Orsino said as if reading his mind, “But this is the only place we can really talk. If I left my office Meredith would have someone follow me, and I would rather keep this private.”

Ciardha shrugged casually, “You said as much in your letter.”

“Well, I hear you deal in _privacy_ very well. You weren't too offended at the insinuation?”

“Any insinuations you have are probably true,” he gave his most charming smile, the one that usually left suitors swooning. Orsino was older, less impressionable and better at guarding his emotions, but Ciardha did love a challenge. “And no offence taken, it's more a source of pride than anything else.”

“Indeed,” Orsino gave a laugh, though it quickly faltered. “Oh, I completely forgot to offer you any wine. Excuse my manners, just a moment...” he fished out an extra wine glass and filled it before Ciardha could say anything. Not that he would turn down free alcohol, mind you, especially since that label looked vintage. “You're impartial to Antivan red, I hope?”

“My favourite,” though he had the feeling Orsino already knew that. His preferred vineyard too... drinking with Fenris left you with a refined palette; for a penniless fugitive, the elf had expensive taste. “So, what did you want to discuss?”

“Oh, this and that,” Orsino said airily, taking a sip of his own full wine glass, “We've only spoken on business terms, and I would like to get to know you better. You seem a... colourful character.”

“This city could be doing with a little less brown, no?” Hawke pointed out wryly, “I'll answer any questions, providing you do the same for me.”

“Fair enough. Now what to discuss first...?”

They swapped mundane, harmless information; likes and dislikes, favourite books and foods and colours. Quick banter between two clever people, skirting any serious or heated topics, allowing Orsino to relax and open up a little. That could also have been the wine, yet the man's glass was hardly emptied, even as Ciardha went back for re-fills. It was all fun and light-hearted. And then, Orsino asked: “So, tell me a little of your family.”

“Family?” Hawke shook his head, “It's just mother and I now, no others to speak of. My father died during the Blight, as did my brother.”

“My condolences,” a flash of sympathy in those green eyes. “But... I understand that you still have a sister alive?”

“We... don't get on so well.” Not anymore, anyway. The thought soured his mind, which he sought to numb with a swig of wine; he thought he saw Orsino's gaze tracked on his throat, the bobbing of his adam's apple as he swallowed. It could have just been his imagination, though. “Anyway, enough of that depressing stuff. What about _your_ family?”

He realised the mistake just that little bit too late. Growing up with apostates, he'd forgotten how very different life was for a Circle mage. Orsino himself looked downcast; "We are... not permitted families, serah Hawke. I know my lineage extends back to Tevinter, but little else.”

“Ah. Er, sorry.” _Maker._ He could talk himself out of trouble, but he was just as good at talking himself right _into_ it as well.

“It's alright. Besides, the Amells have a history of magic, correct? There must have been a few cousins and such snatched away into the Circle.”

“Possibly, I don't know too much about that side of the family. I consider myself more of a Hawke than an Amell.”

For an informal chat about _this and that,_ these topics were of a serious nature. Orsino was being subtle about it, but seemed intent on bringing up the fact that Ciardha's line had a lot of mages. He had his suspicions as to where this conversation was heading.

“Hawke, yes. Strong Ferelden name. Not one I've heard of before, though.”

“That'll be because it was made-up,” Ciardha announced, observing the elf over the rim of his wine glass, curious as to how he would react. “My father was an apostate, escaped from... _here_ , I think. He adopted a new surname so the templars wouldn't recognise him.”

Orsino rose an eyebrow at the sudden confession. “I... see. That must have been where your sister learned her magic.”

“Naturally. My turn to question, I think,” Hawke kept his tone pleasant, but there was a knowing glint in his eye, “How do you know Bethany is a mage? I don't believe I mentioned that.”

The elf was admittedly very good at hiding his emotions, but Ciardha was an expert in liars, being one himself, and he recognised the tell-tale falter when Orsino realised his slip-up. “Ah, I heard from the Grey Wardens-”

“I didn't mention she was one of _those_ either,” Ciardha pointed out, still smiling. “Why if I didn't know any better, First Enchanter, I'd say you'd purposefully dug into my private life for ammunition to use against me.”

“Not against you. I just want to know where you stand. Your influence in this city is growing by the day, you cannot remain neutral forever.” Orsino said, gaze boring into his as though trying to see his very thoughts. “Which side are you on, Hawke? Are you allied with the templars?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he answered with a teasing smirk. “Incidentally, did you know I'm immune to truth serum?”

Orsino _did_ visibly falter this time, “What do you mean?”

“The truth serum you put in the wine. Quite a lot of it, in fact. I know most people can't taste it, but I'm something of a poisons expert,” Ciardha said cheerfully. “And I noticed your glass of wine was already full when I came in – not the same wine that's in the bottle you poured for me, am I right?”

“I don't – I think you've made some mistake, Champion, I would never-”

“You would if you really needed answers from someone, especially if they were notoriously elusive.” Hawke was not, in fact, angry – he appreciated the amount of cunning that had gone into this. The carefully-placed wine, the small talk to pass the time while the serum settled in... it was high-grade stuff too, would've had most people instantly blurting out their deepest, darkest secrets. But you couldn't work with poisons without developing an immunity, and Ciardha had deliberately taken truth serum before so it could never be used against him. “No need to look so worried, Orsino. You're hardly the first person who's tried to poison me, and they don't usually employ this much finesse. I'm rather impressed.” He took a sip of his drink.

“I wasn't trying to poison you,” Orsino insisted, giving up his denial at last. “Truth serum has no adverse effects. I just thought – it seemed the only way to get an actual honest opinion out of you. I want to know what you think.”

“From where I'm sitting it sounds more like you want to recruit me to your side.”

He sighed, but inclined his head. “So does Meredith. You would make a powerful ally, but your stance on mages and templars remains unclear.”

“That's because I'm not a mage or a templar. It isn't my business.”

“It's everyone's business. Your mother's side has a long history of mages-”

“None of whom I know. They're too distant to really be called family.”

“Your sister is a mage-”

“And an apostate Warden who has nothing to do with the Circle.”

“And so was your father. If he left this very building as you say, surely that tells you all about the treatment in Kirkwall?”

“Then that's his burden, not mine,” Ciardha said firmly, “I pick sides for myself, not the obligations of relatives.”

In truth, that wasn't wholly accurate. Ciardha in fact favoured mages over templars for several reasons. Firstly because of Bethany; she hated him now, but that was a price gladly paid to save one of the very, very few people he genuinely cared for. She'd always felt guilty about her magic and constantly being on the run because of it – not helped by Carver, who'd been bitter and possibly jealous at suffering an apostate's lifestyle when he had no magic to call his own. Ciardha, on the other hand, had loved it, loved the excitement and chaos of going somewhere new with danger nipping at their heels. Really, it was just as well Bethany was a mage, or the family would have settled peacefully in one place, and that would've been _boring._

The second reason was that templars were killjoys, as far as he could tell. _Rich_ killjoys, which was why he worked for them occasionally, but one of the templar requirements seemed to be an utter lack of humour. Stern-faced repressed types usually made for the best lovers, but there was the whole celibacy thing in the way. No wonder mages wanted to get away from them, they were no fun at all.

The third reason he found himself allied with mages was sat opposite him.

“I've seen you help _and_ spurn both mages and templars in equal measure. But you must have some opinion on the Circle, on Meredith's methods.”

“Can't say I do,” Ciardha lied brightly. He'd already picked his side, but it never hurt to squeeze a bit of profit from the situation, old habits die hard and all. He was curious as to what Orsino would actually offer. “There's no use in trying to just talk me into it, or Meredith might talk me right back out again.”

“I could give you coin, valuables. More power and influence over the city and outside of it.”

“I already have all of those things. Come, you can be more creative than that.”

Orsino frowned, “Rare artefacts and tomes, then. Healing magic, enchanting.”

“I already have a moody mage and an odd dwarf for the last two,” he was told, “And Meredith could get me all that anyway. What can you give me that she cannot?”

“I...” he could practically see the gears turning in Orsino's head, mentally listing everything he could offer and if there was a templar equivalent, until he came to the unhappy conclusion. “I don't know what you want,” he murmured hopelessly, shaking his head. “If you would just tell me... anything that is within my power to give you, I would.”

And really, Ciardha had intended to leave it there. There were few material goods that a Knight Commander couldn't also obtain, but that didn't matter; templars represented law and order, two of his biggest dislikes. He'd wanted to push Orsino a little before relenting and reassuring him, but that last sentence had intrigued his more wicked side. “ _Anything?_ ”

“Anything,” Orsino confirmed, “You are the Champion, the voice of the people. Your alliance is worth any cost.”

He would've preferred Orsino's interest in _him_ rather than his title, but he would take what he could get. “What if I asked for a more personal cost? Something, say, non-materialistic?”

“I'm... not entirely sure what you mean.”

Maker, he wasn't sure how to go about asking for this, he'd never done it before. Even by his standards, this took guts to request, especially from a man who could quite easily set him on fire. Arguably it was stooping to a whole new low, but since when had that mattered to him? “Something Meredith can't give me,” he explained, deciding to leave a 'way out' if Orsino wanted to outright refuse – Ciardha didn't have morals, but he did have manners. “Unless you have also taken a vow of chastity.”

He'd never seen Orsino stunned into silence before.

“I – _that's_ what you want?” he asked at last. He seemed shocked but he hadn't thrown Ciardha across the room, which he took as a good sign.

Hawke set his mostly-empty wine glass on the desk, leaning back and lacing his fingers together. “That's what I want. But, is it within your power to give?”

The First Enchanter bowed his head, voice so quiet that Hawke barely heard the words: “... If this is what it takes, I will do it.”

He had to hide his surprise; he hadn't actually expected Orsino to say yes. His whole intention in coming here had been to charm Orsino into his bed, but this way was so much quicker and easier. His skin tingled at the thought of just fucking the elf here and now, but that was perhaps jumping in at the deep end. He had something else in mind... “Come over here, then, and kneel on the floor.”

A flash of anxiety in Orsino's eyes as he realised what he was being asked to do. But stoically he nodded, pushing his chair back as he stood, moving around to Ciardha's side of the desk. He was silent as he knelt, mouth set into a thin line, pointedly looking anywhere but Hawke. Was it amoral, to lower someone so distinguished and respectable to such an act? Yes. But then, Hawke was an amoral man.

“Touch it first. Get used to it.” _This isn't the last time you'll be seeing it_ went unspoken, but they both knew already. He shifted his armour out of the way, parting his legs as the mage's hands drifted hesitantly to his crotch, palming him through the leather of his trousers. Long, slender fingers unbuckled his belt and Hawke's heart rate picked up; it normally took more to get him worked up, but as his cock was drawn out into the open, by _Orsino_ , he was already tingling with anticipation. When he took Ciardha out, Orsino worried his lower lip between his teeth, leaving it teased and reddened. It drew Ciardha's attention, made him anticipate soon having those lips sealed around him all the more.

Orsino said nothing, his expression carefully guarded, but when Hawke placed his hands on the other man's narrow shoulders, he could feel the stiff tension there. Because he did like Orsino, and also for more selfish reasons – namely that he would perform better if relaxed – Ciardha lightly massaged the knotted muscle beneath his fingers, causing Orsino to pause and look up at him, confused at the gesture.

“Keep going,” Ciardha said softly, not offering any explanation.

With a slight frown, the elf went back to his task, running his fingers along Ciardha's length. It was a strange mixture, the coolness of Orsino's unusual gloves combined with the warmth of his exposed index finger and thumb. He'd never seen anyone else with gloves like that, and the feel of it brought home the realisation that this wasn't a dream, nor had he caved in and hired a prostitute mimicry, this was the real deal. In his fantasies Orsino was more sultry and eager to please, but it hardly mattered. He could feel the roughness Orsino's finger from writing all day, the warmth of his breath against his skin, the thick material of his robes. These were the things that imagination alone could not provide.

 _Oh_ but it was good to be Champion. He could stand to have a few more desperate people willing to do anything for his allegiance.

“Lick it,” he commanded hoarsely when Orsino had coaxed him to semi-hardness. Still trailing his hands along the shaft's base, the mage leaned in and very cautiously gave the head a single, brief swipe of tongue. Before he could help it, Hawke snorted with laughter.

Orsino looked up immediately, none too pleased. “What?”

“It's just...” he tried – and failed – to suppress his grin at the offended tone, “You're like a virgin on her wedding night.”

His expression morphed into a scowl. “I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am _not._ ” With new gusto, he went back to Hawke's cock, considerably less shy in his licking. His actions were focused on proving a point rather than providing pleasure, but Ciardha certainly wasn't complaining. Pleased, he shifted his hands further inwards from Orsino's shoulders to his neck, fingering the stiff material of his collar. When Orsino leaned a little further in for a long, slow lick from base to tip, Ciardha groaned and slipped his fingers beneath the collar, finally contacting bare skin. He could feel a frenzied pulse beneath his fingers, even as Orsino maintained an outwardly cool façade.

His breathing harshened as Orsino's free hand moved down to play with his sac, so often neglected during foreplay. He'd had his fair share of women as well as men, and some of them had given him the time of his life, but the reason he preferred his own sex was this – there was a certain _understanding_ between two men (and two women, he supposed) as to what felt good. Namely when Orsino dug his fingers ever so slightly into Hawke's balls, rubbing in slow circles that left the owner panting like an animal. It was indescribably good, the double sensation of having his lower extremities massaged while a clever tongue fluttered against the sensitive underside of his cock head.

Good enough to reward Orsino a little, and so Hawke smoothed his hands over the First Enchanter's neat hair, admiring the way the silver reflected the warm candlelight. He was so glad Orsino didn't use dye; many of the Hightown nobles did when they lost their colour, and Hawke had never been able to fathom why. It was one of the bounties of age, such a waste to get rid of it.

Fenris also had silver hair – well, white, but close enough. He did, however, get very angry whenever Ciardha tried to stroke it (which was often. He couldn't resist).

He was distracted from thoughts about that exasperating but undeniably handsome elf, by an even _more_ undeniably handsome elf tending the hardness between his legs. Soothed by the mild petting, Orsino felt comfortable enough to switch from tongue to lips, suckling the very tip of Hawke's cock. Hawke answered with a deep groan, burying his fingers right into Orsino's hair. So much finer and softer than a human's, almost liquid beneath his fingers... he scratched against the scalp and, if he wasn't mistaken, saw the man's eyelids drop slightly before he caught himself. Emotional defences slammed back into place, masking any hint of passion or pleasure.

Well. That wouldn't do. When a few more attempts at head massage didn't get Orsino to react, Hawke slipped his hands out of the hair, leaving it delightfully tousled and messy. He returned to the elf's slender neck, palm cupped against the pulse, thumb lightly tracing his jawline. Orsino steadfastly ignored him, closing his eyes as he moved to encompass the head of the cock in his mouth.

“Look at me,” Hawke ordered immediately. A thrill of pleasure as Orsino obeyed, meeting his gaze dead-on as he bobbed shallowly back and forth on the head, mouth stretched deliciously to accommodate the girth. But more fascinating were his eyes – he'd always thought they were lovely, but up close he could appreciate every detail, each sliver of silver among the rich green.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured before he could help himself. Orsino's eyes widened and hastily averted, embarrassed. Hawke decided to allow it... for now.

That wasn't to say he would let up on the teasing, though. Orsino's little reaction to having his hair petted earlier – eyes half-lidded, pleasure-darkened – had been positively tantalising, and Ciardha was determined to see more. Orsino seemed equally determined not to give it to him, since enjoying this apparently wounded his dignity and honour, but both were highly overrated in Ciardha's opinion, and he intended to make the First Enchanter see that too. Playing along his neck earned nothing but stoic silence, but Hawke knew one erogenous zone that no elf could resist; in a subtle movement, he slid his hand upwards to touch one long, pointed ear.

Orsino choked immediately, despite having very little length in his mouth, and pulled back, coughing and spluttering. His cock protested at the sudden lack of stimulation, left red, swollen and wet with saliva and pre-come, but he was more focused on Orsino's scandalised expression.

“Problem?” Ciardha said pleasantly.

Orsino just stared at him. “You didn't mention you would be doing _that._ ”

“No, I don't believe I did,” he agreed, then glanced pointedly down at his waiting cock.

With an exasperated sigh, Orsino conceded that he once again wasn't going to get an explanation, and took the head into his mouth once more. He tensed as Hawke returned to his ears, steeling himself against any ministrations. But this didn't deter Hawke – there was a good reason why Jethann always gave him such a big discount.

He started with just gently thumbing the earlobe, while his free hand went back to Orsino's neck. The man was slowly swallowing up more and more length, tongue pressed firmly against the underside in a sinfully good way; he could've come then – hell, he could've come five minutes ago – but he was deliberately holding on, making this last. He wanted the entirety of his cock down Orsino's throat before he found his release, and he wanted to see the mage take his own pleasure, however reluctantly. His thumb moved up from the lobe to trace the outer shell of the ear and he saw the elf twitch in response – just slightly, but it had definitely happened. Smirking, he repeated the action, and Orsino's tenseness could not suppress his shiver.

He responded by hollowing out his cheeks as he sucked, causing Ciardha to buck and groan. He knew what Orsino was doing, of course: trying to distract him from his task, humiliated by the thought of having his ears played with as he serviced another man. A little humiliation could be a good thing, Ciardha thought, but Orsino seemed to disagree, intending to render Ciardha incapable of anything beyond wild thrusting. He was doing a bloody good job of it too, Hawke could feel every ridge along the roof of Orsino's mouth, each swallowing motion as gag reflexes were fought. Slender hands were still cupping his balls, fingers crooked to reach behind and rub the ultra-sensitive patch of skin between his sac and ass.

Oh, that felt good. The temptation to just let go and climax was overwhelming, but he wasn't finished with Orsino yet.

Biting back his release, he continued to stroke the ear, lingering at the pointed tip. Orsino was truly concentrating on hiding any reaction, but there was a slight tint of colour on his cheeks, his pupils blown much wider than usual and his heartbeat thundering away. He could see the man's control visibly slipping as, with his spare hand, Ciardha gave the other ear the exact same treatment, caressing it as though he were a lover and not someone just getting sexual favours.

When his fingers slipped _behind_ Orsino's ears, tickling just by the lobes, he finally got a groaning note of pleasure, so quiet it was barely audible. Face flushed with a mixture of shame and arousal, Orsino closed his eyes, taking those last few centimetres down his throat until finally, his nose was pressed against Hawke's pelvic bone.

“All the way in. Well done,” Ciardha whispered, stroking along one tapered ear. “Now pull back a little and look up. I want to see your eyes.”

Nothing happened.

“Orsino,” and when he realised the elf was deliberately ignoring him, he used a sterner tone, “ _Orsino._ Look at me.”

It was a little difficult with a cock in your mouth, but he was pretty certain Orsino had just shook his head.

“Is that a 'no'...? Well, I guess you don't want my alliance after all, then.”

He saw Orsino's brow tighten in aggravation, but the mage finally obeyed, pulling back enough to tilt his head up. He might have looked reproachful were his eyes not swarmed with lust, pupils so magnified that Hawke could only make out a thin band of green around the black. There was no disguising the want and need there... the heavy material of those robes revealed nothing, but Ciardha was certain that if he stripped Orsino, he would find him erect. Giving his mage a handjob wasn't on his agenda tonight though, tempting as it was. There was only so much humiliation a gentleman could take in one night and besides which, Orsino needed to feel as though he'd secured an ally – repaying the blowjob would negate that.

Instead, Ciardha cupped Orsino's lovely face and purred, “There's a good First Enchanter.” He thrust in and out a few times, revelling in Orsino's spellbound stare and all its glorious guilty pleasure.

“I'm going to come down your throat,” he told him matter-of-factly, “And I want you to swallow every last drop of it, understood?”

There was a shifting motion from Orsino that might have been a nod. Maybe. Not that it particularly mattered either way, since he was holding Orsino's head in place. With a deep groan he rode out his orgasm at last, still pushing further into that mouth; the man choked and struggled out of reflex at the first spurt of come, but unable to move, he had no choice but to swallow the hot, bitter fluid. There was a lot of it too, he'd so often dreamed of having Orsino service him this way, and the reality had been far from a disappointment.

When the last of him was spent, he lingered until his cock had completely softened before finally pulling out and re-fastening on his trousers. Although the sight of Orsino still kneeling on the floor, hair mussed and face flushed like a Blooming Rose whore, almost had him raring to go again... but he'd already pushed Orsino far enough tonight. The trick was to provide _just enough_ humiliation to have them guiltily looking forward to another encounter. Too much, and the anticipation would turn to dread.

“Let me help you up, First Enchanter,” he said sweetly, giving the older man something to lean on as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. His eyes were still slightly unfocused, and there was an awkwardness to his movements, confirming the hardness between his legs even if Ciardha couldn't see it. Keeping his hands to himself, he guided Orsino back into his chair. He didn't miss the way the mage tucked himself up close to his desk so his lap was kept firmly out of sight.

“Your allegiance...” he rasped, no doubt suffering a sore throat, “This confirms it?”

“Hm? Oh yes.” He'd almost forgotten about that. “Although I shall need _reminding_ from time to time. This isn't a one-off occurrence, you understand.”

“...I understand. As I said, I am free most evenings.”

“That you are,” Ciardha murmured silkily in reply. “Negotiations will continue some other time. Take care of yourself, Orsino.”

 _Literally_ , he thought smugly, already entertaining thoughts of a flustered Orsino desperately wishing his arousal away, only to give in and reluctantly curl his fingers around himself. Cries suppressed, eyes shut tight, ears burning in remembrance of their earlier attention... but he was getting ahead of himself. With a departing smirk, he faded back into the shadows, leaving the First Enchanter to his business.


End file.
